“If in your judgment, Philip, you would be safe merely ordering the porter off the train, show him this.”
Dow hefted the badge in his hand and read the inscription.
“Captain of the Southern Pacific Railway police?” He smiled, clearly relieved that he would not have to kill the porter. “The poor porter won’t stop running until he hits Sacramento.”
36
MARION MORGAN ARRIVED FROM SAN FRANCISCO WITH ONLY an hour to spare before Preston Whiteway’s banquet for Osgood Hennessy. Lillian Hennessy welcomed her aboard the special and took her to her stateroom in Car 4. She offered to stay to help Marion with her gown, but it was soon apparent to Isaac Bell’s fiancée that the beautiful young heiress’s main purpose was to ask questions about Archie Abbott.
Isaac Bell had already ridden down to the town to inspect the guardhouses protecting the piers of the Cascade Canyon Bridge. He spoke sternly to the guard captain, reminding him for the third time that sentries should change position at irregular intervals so that an attacker could never predict what he was going to run up against. Satisfied for the moment, he hurried to the Cascade Lodge.
It was a vast log-and-timber building decorated with stuffed game, Navaho rugs, rustic furniture that was more comfortable than it looked, and gas lamps with Louis Comfort Tiffany shades. A band was warming up with “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight” as he removed the linen duster he had worn over a midnight-blue single-breasted tuxedo. Moments later, Osgood Hennessy arrived with Mrs. Comden, Lillian, Franklin Mowery, and Marion.
Isaac thought Marion looked stunning in her low-cut red gown. If he had never seen her before in his life, he would have walked right up to her and asked her to marry him. Her green eyes sparkled. She had her blond hair swept high on her head and her decolletage artfully screened by the ruby necklace he had given her for her birthday. She had removed the bandage that had covered the cut on her cheek from the flying glass. A touch of rouge made it invisible to any eye but his.
“Welcome to Cascade Canyon, Miss Morgan,” he smiled, greeting her formally since there were too many people around to sweep her into his arms. “I have never seen you more beautiful.”
“I am so happy to see you,” she said, smiling back.
Preston Whiteway, trailed closely by waiters bearing champagne and looking flushed like he’d had a few already, bustled up to greet them. “Hello, Marion.” He smoothed his blond waves. “You look great ... Oh, hello there, Bell. How’s that Locomobile running?”
“Like a top.”
“If you ever want to sell—”
“I don’t.”
“Well, enjoy your dinner. Marion, I’ve seated you between me and Senator Kincaid. We’ll have a lot of business to talk about.”
Osgood Hennessy muttered, “I’ll deal with this,” went directly to the head table, and coolly switched all the place cards.
“Father,” Lillian protested. “It is uncouth to change place cards.”
“If they want to honor me, they can start by seating me between the two best-looking women in the room who aren’t my daughter. I’ve put you by Kincaid, Lillian. It’s dark work, but someone has to do it. Bell, I moved you between Whiteway and Miss Morgan so he’ll stop staring down her dress. O.K., let’s eat!”
No SOONER HAD PHILIP Dow set foot in the enormous Cascade Canyon yards than a railway cop stopped him. “Where you going, mister?”
Dow turned cold eyes on the cinder dick and flashed the sterling silver star.
The cinder dick practically fell over himself backing away.
“Sorry, Captain. I forgot I’d seen you before.”
“Better safe than sorry,” said Dow, doubly glad to have the badge. Any cop who’d seen him before had a sharp memory for wanted posters.
“Anything I can do to help, Captain?”
“Yeah. Keep it under your hat ‘til morning. What’s your name, Officer?”
“McKinney, sir. Darren McKinney.”
“You’ll be on the right side of my report, McKinney. I barely put my foot on the property before you spotted me. Good work.”
“Thank you, Captain.”
“Continue your rounds.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sauntering briskly, relying on his suit and derby to look like an official who belonged among the tank engines shuttling strings of gondolas, Dow crossed track after track. At the head end, Osgood Hennessy’s special glowed gold and red just beyond the harsh glare of the bridge lights. The president of the railroad’s special was parked on a raised siding with a view of the entire yards.
BELL DANCED WITH MARION between courses.
“When are you going to let me teach you that slow Boston Waltz?”
“Not when they’re playing ‘There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight.”’
As Preston Whiteway wandered over to cut in, a sharp glance from the Van Dorn detective changed his mind and he returned to the floor with Mrs. Comden.
Dessert was Baked Alaska, a cake-and-ice-cream concoction wrapped in meringue. Guests who had never been east of the Mississippi swore it was the equal of any served in New York City’s famous Delmonico’s Restaurant.
New York City reminded Lillian Hennessy of Archie Abbott.
“That’s quite a smile you’re wearing,” Charles Kincaid said, interrupting her thoughts.
“I was anticipating your speech,” she snapped.
Bell overheard and gave her a private grin.
Lillian noticed that Isaac had been unusually quiet and serious despite the company of his beautiful fiancée. Nearly as quiet as the anxious-looking Franklin Mowery. Something was really worrying him. She reached past Kincaid to give the poor old man a pat on his hand. He nodded distractedly. Then Preston Whiteway tapped a spoon on a glass and the double row of plump red faces rimming the long table turned in anticipation.
“Gentlemen. And ladies”—the newspaper publisher bowed to Emma Comden, Lillian Hennessy, and Marion Morgan, the only women in the lodge—“I am honored you could join me in saluting the great builders of the Southern Pacific Railroad. As they forge ever onward toward their final goal, let them know that our prayers go with them and let us hope that our fervent admiration
